


Summer Loving

by Enochianess



Series: Dirtiest white boy in America [7]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode Related, Explicit Sexual Content, Idiots in Love, Juvie, M/M, Mickey Uses His Words, Mutual Pining, OT3, POV Mickey Milkovich, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Season/Series 02, Semi-Public Sex, Smoking, Smut, summer loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:46:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4374194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2 Episode 2 - Mickey focused</p><p>"The hell's he doing here?" He mutters when he notices the redhead standing beside his sister. His stomach drops at the sight of him, taller and leaner now, and he thinks he might have forgotten what effect the kid has on him. </p><p>"Hey, Mick." Ian says, his eyes sparkling and his lips lifted into a soft smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Loving

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of Mickey Milkovich and I don't think his side of the story was explored enough on the show, so I'm writing his story canonically episode by episode and adding and expanding upon the scenes as I see fit (And yes, this does include smut, because their kiss and sex scenes were virtually nonexistent). All the works will be named after the episodes in the show.
> 
> *Gives you the bird because we're in the shameless fandom and this is the best way of expressing my affection and love for you all*
> 
> Thanks to [djmsms13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/djmsms13/pseuds/djmsms13) for pointing out the missing Kash and Grab scene!

It feels fucking good to be in his own clothes again, feels fucking good to be out in broad daylight at this time in the morning. He smirks at the fresh meat pouring off the bus, all dressed up from Cook County and ready to serve their time in the shit hole he's just escaped. The skinny runts ain't gonna last five fucking minutes. He kinda wishes he was there to see them crumble. Although, last time the new recruits arrived, Mickey had landed himself in Confinement for a week. So, it was probably best he could get back to beating down on kids without any fucking time-outs. Whatever happened to the right to a good old scrappin' and molestin'? Juvie had turned into a fucking Nazi regime.

"The hell's he doing here?" He mutters when he notices the redhead standing beside his sister. His stomach drops at the sight of him, taller and leaner now, and he thinks he might have forgotten what effect the kid has on him. 

"Hey, Mick." Ian says, his eyes sparkling and his lips lifted into a soft smile.

The edges of his face may have become sharper during their time apart, but he still looked like a fucking puppy. The kid still stared at him reverently, maybe even lovingly, despite whatever filth or shit Mickey has just thrown his way. And Mickey still doesn't know what to do with it. Still doesn't think he deserves it. 

"He thought I needed protection." Mandy replies, smile fixed on her face, as she twists her torso slightly from side to side.

It's obvious to Mickey, just from the way his sister says it without a single drop of malice, that she loves Ian. Normally, she'd go apeshit on any guy who insinuated she couldn't look out for herself. But with Gallagher, Mandy knew it was coming from a place of affection, and she was clearly a little giddy over the unfamiliar attention and concern. Mickey thought maybe he understood more than he'd like to admit. Ian just had a way of making you feel  _safe,_ like you could let your guard down and he wouldn't even think to take advantage of it. Mickey didn't understand how anyone who had grown up the way they all had could remain so _good._

"Oh, yeah? Trust me, you may think you know my sister, but you don't know my sister until you've fought my sister." Mickey says, wrapping his arms around Mandy and pulling her tightly against him. "She's protecting your ass."

Neither of them ever spoke about it, but they were fiercely protective of each other, and with Mickey in Juvie for months on end, Mandy would've had to deal with Terry by herself. He felt the way she buried her face into his neck for a second, breathing him in as if relieved and checking for the authenticity of the moment. Mickey felt himself bristle a little at the thought of what must have happened to her while he was locked up. Iggy and Jamie probably would've tried to watch out for her, but they were too dumb to notice the subtle differences in the way their sister was acting. Mickey had always had a way of deciphering what was wrong, when his little sister needed him to give someone a good old-fashioned beat down. He knew she could look after herself better than any other chick in the Southside - he'd made sure of that - but it still didn't make her immune to all the shit that happened to girls in their neighbourhood. He hated himself for leaving her vulnerable to that.

"You smell like barbecue sauce." She muttered, frowning down at his chest when they stepped apart a couple inches.

Mickey reacts immediately, just as he'd done since they were little, and sharply twists her nipple. "Smell like what?"

"Oh, ow!" Mandy exclaims, grabbing hold of Mickey's arms. "What did dad tell you?"

Mandy knots her bony fingers in his hair and yanks harshly. Mickey was pretty fucking sure he'd have a bald patch again. "Ow! Fuck the police?"

"No titty twisters now that I'm a C cup." She says, pushing Mickey away from her.

"Ow. C cup? Bitch, you wish." Mickey mutters, rubbing his head with a grimace and turning away from her.

"Hey! Fuck you, fuck you, and _especially_ fuck you." He yells to the attendants chaperoning the new inmates inside.

He's wanted to say that for fucking months. _Assholes._

"Alright, Jesus... Let's get outta here before they throw you back in." Ian says, one hand pulling at his shoulder and leading him away. 

Mickey allows Ian's touch around his shoulder blades for a moment, just revelling in the feeling of it, but then shrugs him off. It was just a little bit too fucking gay for him, especially with his sister right there. Plus, he was free now. There'd be plenty of time for him to touch Ian. He strolls casually behind them, a weight lifting from his shoulders, and he tosses his release papers into the air. 

 

"Hot as balls tonight." Mickey mutters as they walk across the playing field, spitting onto the grass just for the hell of it.

"So, I'm taking geometry, algebra two, trigonometry, chemistry." Ian tells him.

And if he's being honest, Mickey's wondering why the kid wants to fill him in on this shit. He thought maybe it was a little bit about approval. But he's also pretty sure that Ian just wanted someone to listen, just wanted someone to give a shit about the things going on in his life that he cared about. Mickey seriously doubted Ian got much attention at home, especially with the way Lip was a genius, Debbie was a drama queen, and Carl was always trying to blow up the joint. Everyone was too busy sorting out their own crap to pay attention to the one kid who actually seemed to have his shit together, who was doing well but only in a mediocre sort of way. The kid was high spirited, but Mickey thought it could only last so long, so he tried his best to seem somewhat interested without giving the game away. 

"During the summer?" He asked. He couldn't think of anything fucking worse.

"Well, I'm trying to get into West Point." Ian explains, his eyes watching for a reaction on Mickey's face.

Mickey laughs because he can't fucking believe this kid. "If you want the army to give you a fucking gun, all you got to do is enlist. Recruiting station's, like, two blocks that way."

"I want to be an officer." 

"Want to be an officer, huh? Don't officers get shot first?" He teases. 

Now in the dugouts, Mickey fishes his flip knife from his pocket and punches a hole in the beer can. "Here. Shotgun."

He presses his finger to the opening, lifts it to his mouth, and pulls open the tab with a click. The slightly warmed liquid quickly drains down the back of his throat, the gas weighing heavily in his chest. He keeps gulping down the beer until he reckons it's half empty, and then passes it over, not even thinking about the way he doesn't immediately remove his hand from beneath Ian's. He breathes a little heavily, his cock twitching in his pants as he watches the way Ian's throat bobs. 

"Oh." Ian coughs out once he's finished the rest of the beer, his eyes watering a little. "So you make a lot of friends on the inside?" 

Mickey belches, looks down. He wants Ian so fucking badly, but he feels the need to make the request as casual as possible. After all, he's still Mickey Milkovich. "You wanna chitchat more, or you want to get on me?"

Mickey sucks his bottom lip into his mouth for a moment, his eyes locking heatedly with Ian's. The kid smirks at him, and Mickey can't help the smile tugging at his lips. Ian starts undoing his jeans and Mickey is more than happy to do the same. He's been waiting to do this for fucking months, and maybe that's why he lets himself hold eye contact with Ian while they strip from the waist down. Mickey turns around and bends over, bracing his hands on the ledge. His breathing is harsh already and they've not even started. 

Ian doesn't waste a lot of time, and Mickey's glad Gallagher seems to realise how much he needs this right now without having to say so much as a word. Mickey needs it quick, and rough, and dirty, and he knows Ian will be more than ready to give it to him. He thinks maybe that's why this thing works so well between them. They give each other what they need. No judgement. No conversation.

Ian pushes a lubricated finger inside Mickey, swirling it around to loosen him up a little. Mickey shudders at the feeling of it, biting down on his lip until he tastes metal on his tongue. He wonders if maybe there really is something worth exploring with delayed gratification, because the way he feels right now after being denied it so long, is so fucking good he doesn't know how long he's actually gonna last. 

"Don't hold out on me firecrotch." He murmurs, a laugh spilling from his lips when Ian roughly pushes a second and then a third finger alongside the first. 

It burns, and maybe it is a little quicker than his body would have liked, but it's just what Mickey needs. He needs that slight edge of pain to remind him of the realness of the moment, remind him this is something he's allowed to have again.

Soon enough, Ian is pulling his fingers back out and slicking up his cock. Mickey squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the head of Ian's dick pressing against his hole, pushing forward gently until it breached the thin circle of muscle. He can't help the way his body tenses up a little at the sensation, the way his muscles coil, the way his breath gets caught in his throat.

"It's okay, Mickey." Ian says softly behind him, his fingertips kneading at his ass. "Relax."

And he does. He lets out a loud sigh and presses his hips back, sliding Ian further inside him. Ian groans and it's like music to Mickey's ears.  

"Fuck." He mutters when Ian bottoms out, both of them stilling, just savouring the feeling of being together again. 

Mickey begins wriggling impatiently, rocking back slightly onto Ian. He's not sure how much longer he can stay like this with Ian buried to the hilt, the fullness overwhelming. Ian doesn't need to hear him say it, just pulls out and immediately thrusts back in, his hips beginning to snap against him at a blistering pace. Mickey whines, the world suddenly seeming to shrink until it's just the two of them.

"Fuck, Mick-" Ian stammers behind him, his breath shallow.

Ian folds himself over Mickey's back, fists a hand in his sweaty hair and tugs roughly on it. Mickey lets his head fall back onto Ian's shoulder, gasping at the pain in his scalp. He smiles, wide and fucking ecstatic. Yeah, this was what he'd been waiting all those months for. Fuck, it was so much better than he could remember it.

A couple of minutes later, Ian changes the angle and Mickey suddenly jolts, his teeth clamping together to try and bite down a howl. "There. Fuck, Ian- _There."_

Ian started fucking him deeper, harder, hitting that spot on every thrust. Mickey was a blabbering mess, swearing up a storm, and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer if Ian kept this up. Ian reached round and gently squeezed Mickey's cock from root to tip, then bent his head down and licked a stripe up Mickey's neck, his lips fixing on the spot just below his ear and sucking hard. Mickey curled in on himself, coming hard with a cry. Ian thrusted in once, twice, three more times, and then suddenly he was shuddering too, spurting his release deep inside Mickey. It's fucking embarrassing, but Mickey's glad Ian's not wearing a condom and is filling him up instead. It feels like Ian is marking him, making a claim to him. He doesn't know why he likes the thought of that so much, but after so long apart, he kind of feels like it needs to be reestablished, even though he'd never belonged to Ian in the first place. Mickey wonders if maybe he's got a fucked up daddy-issues complex. 

 

"Always wanted to do that here!" Mickey yells with a laugh, pulling up his boxers and pants once they've made a shit attempt at cleaning up. "Get back at that little league commissioner who kicked me off my baseball team for pissing on first base."

"I remember." Ian replies, moving away a couple steps.

"You heard about that?"

"I was playing second." He says, grabbing hold of the metal bar above his head and starting to pull himself up, his biceps bulging mesmerisingly.

Mickey opens another can of beer, his gaze fixed intensely on the redhead. "Fucking tough guy, huh?"

Ian drops back down onto the ground and the two of them switch places. It was probably a weird macho, alpha male thing, but Mickey suddenly feels the need to prove he's strong too. And, if he's honest with himself, he kind of wants to show Ian how much he's bulked up since he's been in Juvie. Not that he cared about what Ian thought of him though. _Obviously not._

He steps onto the bench and jumps up to grab at the bar, pulling himself up with heavy grunts. He can feel Ian's eyes on him and he smirks when he drops to his feet, feeling more fucking pleased with himself than he probably should have been.

"Not much to do in the joint but workout." He explains with a shrug.

"You could read." Ian replied when Mickey leant against the ledge beside him.

"Fuck off." Mickey said, popping a cigarette in his mouth and searching in his pocket for his lighter. "Fucked for life anyway, man."

He flicks the thumb wheel, cupping his hand round the lighter when the flame sparks and catches. He sucks the smoke deep into his lungs, lets it fill them and settle. It makes him feel calm. Stops him from thinking too deeply about the shit-show his life's turning out to be.

"Want to sneak into the Sox game tomorrow?" Ian asks, seeming to sense Mickey's mood and trying to change the subject. He was always so fucking observant.

"Nah, man. I got to get me a job. If I don't get one in two weeks, my probation skank's gonna do it for me, and I'm gonna end up losing a fucking limb at the meat packing plant." He mutters grimly.

"Maybe she'll find you something better." 

"She ain't gonna find fuck all. My dad even had to threaten this mook he knows from high school to get me a job tarring roofs."

Mickey had actually been pretty surprised Terry cared enough to make the effort. But then again, if Mickey was in Juvie, that was one less kid to do runs for him or to beat up when the anger got too much.

Ian reaches over, tries to pull the smoke from Mickey's lips. Mickey flays about for a moment, jolting back so he can finish his drag of the poison, but then hands it over.

"Maybe you could head down to Malcolm X. You know, take some vocational training."

"Why the fuck are we talking about community college right now?" Mickey asks, bristling at the comment. "Jesus Christ, you want us to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?"

Ian laughs, and Mickey's honestly kind of glad Ian doesn't take offence to the way he's brushing him off. He thinks maybe Ian gets that Mickey doesn't like talking about that shit, about how he has potential and is tossing it out the fucking window. Mickey burps and takes another sip of his beer, feeling himself relax again.

"I could talk to Linda."

"I'm sorry. You want me to work at the place I got shot?"

Ian's gaze is locked on him again, his eyes heated and sincere. "Redemption tale."

"What would I be doing?" Mickey asks.

He can't resist the urge to look down at the redhead's chest, openly checking him out. Suddenly the air seemed to have shifted, the space between them filled with electricity. He can feel himself harden a little in his jeans just at the thought of being fucked again.

"Helping."

"I ain't cleaning up after people."

"It's a pretty clean store, Mickey."

"What about security?" He asks, releasing a plume of smoke into Ian's face. "You know, scaring people like me who come into the store trying to steal shit?"

"Stealing's been down since your shooting." Ian replies with a small, almost cocky smile.

"Hey, do whatever you want, man. You brought it up." 

"Alright."

There's a slight pause, and then Mickey thinks,  _fuck it._

"You ready to go again, or you, uh, need some time, firecrotch?" He asks with a smirk, an unfamiliar giddiness taking over him when Ian manhandles him, spinning him around and pushing at his shoulder until he bends over. 

His cigarette is still hanging from his lips, and he's got Ian tugging at his jeans, and he thinks this is definitely as good as it's ever gonna get.

 

Mickey is flicking through a magazine when he hears Linda, _the Nazi wife,_ talking over the loudspeakers. “Hey, Ian. Bring me up a cheese sandwich.”

“Cheddar with a lot of mustard. You got it.” The redhead replies into the walkie-talkie.

Mickey looks up hesitantly at the camera. He hates feeling like he’s being watched; it reminds him too much of Juvie, of the way the security guys would wait until he was locked up some place alone and then yell stuff at him until he couldn't take it anymore. He'd never been good at controlling his temper, but it was even worse when he had no one to take it out on, no where to run to, no hard surfaces to break into. And to make it worse, the pricks always knew just what to say. He figured they'd learnt their fair share about him and the rest of the Milkoviches, what with them being such regular customers. He couldn't stand it. 

“And tell Mickey that one pack of gum goes missing, he's gone. Oh, and tell your good humor buddies that I'm keeping tabs on how many cases they're moving, so don't get cute. I know my inventory.” Linda tells him, her tone harsh. Mickey recognises it as the voice of a tough, South Side mother.

Women in the neighbourhood didn't exactly have much of a choice. You grow some balls, learn how to throw a few punches and swear up a storm, or you forfeit, you get beaten down. He wishes his mama could've held out as well as Linda obviously had. His mom had never been able to hack it. This world had always been too much for her, too painful. Whenever Mickey asked her why she left, why she had to take all the pills and snort the white powder, she said she wasn't from here. She wasn't supposed to be in reality. She had to be someplace else. Someplace she felt safe. She said she wasn't like everyone else, didn't see the world properly. Everything looked different to her. She was alien.

“All right, we're taking six cases of beer, Linda.” Lip calls, clearly taking the threat seriously.

And suddenly, Mickey's not in that dark place anymore. He's back. He's back here with Ian and Lip and the omnipotent deity that is Linda Karib.

“You two can put that back, or I can crack your skulls on the pavement.” Mickey mutters, catching sight of the boys pocketing candy bars, not even bothering to turn around to make sure they do as he says. He knows they will. No kid was stupid enough to mess around with a Milkovich.

“Can you and, uh, sergeant slaughter over here help me out with some cases of pop?” 

“Yep.”

“Hey, you want me to get you some blow? Uppers? Downers? Special K?” Mickey asks, because, hey, every person who walked into the store was a potential customer. He had to get the money in somehow. His dad wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t make a decent profit two days in a row. And, if he's totally honest, he's still feeling a little bruised from the other night.

“Uh, you know, thanks, Mickey, but, um, we're keeping it pretty old school- You know, beer, joints, cigarettes, that kind of thing. No one under 14.”

“That's giving up a big market.” Mickey says. And he’s not lying. On the South Side, it was one of the biggest markets there was, especially during summer vacation. There was a whole new year of fucked up kids, new recruits if you will, ready to start finding ways of escaping their shitty lives. A whole new year of kids finally coming of age, beginning to see the poverty and the suffering of everyone around them. Mickey was jealous that so many kids managed to remain oblivious to all of it. He sure as hell never had.

“Keeps my conscience clean.” Kevin says from inside the van.

“Hey, Ian, can you have Linda order some more of those rocket pops? They're moving well. And, um, keep it up with those geometry theorems, all right? We'll hit 'em tomorrow.”

Mickey looks between the two brothers, and something nags at him, deep in the cavity of his chest. It was the kind of exchange he'd never really had with his siblings. Sure, they helped each other out when it was needed, but not for anything as conventional as fucking theorems. He didn't have those kinds of family dynamics. Their family was too fucking dysfunctional, not that the Gallaghers were any kind of upstanding example. He's glad though. He's glad Ian's got some fucking support. Fuck knows someone around here should get some, and if it was going to be anyone, Ian was the one person who fucking deserved it.

“Will do.”

“Geometry theorems? For the army?” Mickey says as soon as the rolling grille closes.

“Artilleries, mortars, bomb trajectories. It's all geometry. I mean, it's confusing at first, but... Put in enough hours, you study hard, you can learn anything.”

And that's what Mickey likes so much about the kid, or maybe even admires. That fucking optimism that never seemed to waver. The ambition. The work ethic. Mickey doesn't get it, but he thinks Gallagher's fucking tough to keep it up, especially when he was being constantly let down again, and again, and again. Mickey really wished he didn't have to include himself in that long list of disappointments, but he knows he doesn't give Ian nearly enough.

“So not true.”

And where the fuck had that scumbag come from? Why did he always manage to appear when he was least wanted? Not that he was ever exactly _wanted._  

“Sometimes effort does not enhance ability. Study if you must, but if it don't stick, move on, focus on something you're good at. Put this on Dottie Coronis's account.” 

Mickey hates to admit that there is some sense in what the asshole's saying. God knows school had never been for him, no matter how much he'd tried when he first started middle school. He'd had that childish, 'I'm gonna study real hard and get out of this shit hole' mindset that so many kids around here started out with, but it hadn't taken long for the system to beat him down too. Shit got real, and it got real fast. Mickey didn't have time to live in cuckoo land like his mom anymore. No, he had to pick up some real skills, learn how to scam and rob and sell and terrorise. 

“We don't have accounts, Frank.” Ian mutters.

“I'm just the errand boy. Gave my last cash to Fiona. Dottie's dying- You know where her house is.” 

Like fuck Frank had given it to Fiona.

“$19.06.” Ian says, and Mickey can tell the kid is so done with his father's shit. He looks defeated, hopeless, disappointed. 

“She's in trouble. She's gonna die next week. When that happens, take it out of her estate.” 

Good ol' Southside thinking. Another in the grave, another check in the bank.

“Hey, Frank. Why don't you check your pockets again. Maybe you overlooked something.” Mickey says, getting into Frank's face so the fucker knows he ain't leaving without paying up. It was his job, after all, and he really couldn't afford to fuck it up on his first day. Plus, Ian had stuck his ass out for him; the least he could do was make a little effort. 

“You work here now?” Frank asks.

“Trial basis.”

Frank quirks an eyebrow, obviously understanding the interaction for what it was. Frank was a prick, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He'd grown up in the Southside. He knew how things worked.

“You know what, Mick? You may... be...” He says, pulling the cash out of his back pocket as if from thin air. The guy was so fucking predictable. “Look at that. That should cover it."

And Mickey can't help the slight thrill he gets, the pride in actually being able to do something right. This was what he was good at. It was what he'd always been good at.

"Hey, have a great sabbatical from your incarceration.” Frank yells as he leaves, the bell above the door jingling.

Mickey picks up another magazine from the rack and spreads it open on the counter.

“That the kind of leadership you plan on bringing to the army?” He asks Ian.

The kid was gonna have to learn how to stick up for himself better if he was gonna be an officer. Hell, Ian had to learn just so he could survive around here. Mickey could protect him, sure, but he couldn't be there all the time, not for him as well as his siblings.

“Said last night's bottom.” The redhead mutters, amusement clear in his voice.

“Whatever. Liking what I like don't make me a bitch.” Mickey grumbles, not being able to help the way he looks up in search of a reaction.

He knows Ian doesn't see him like that, would never treat him as anything less than an equal, but it still scares him. He's always been scared of what it meant, being who he was and liking what he liked. He let Ian take full control of him and his body, let him tear him to pieces and stitch him back together. Fuck, he was damn near submissive sometimes when him and the redhead really got hot and heavy. And it was fucking terrifying, because he'd never been able to let his guard down like that before, never been able to trust anyone enough before. And, if he's honest, he's still waiting. Waiting for the time that he slips up, gives too much. Waiting for the time that Gallagher takes advantage. But deep down, he knows it'll never happen, and he thinks that frightens him even more because he doesn't know how to deal with that. He doesn't know how to just let himself be happy, content. He doesn't know how to not run away. Still doesn't understand how to separate the people who love him from the people who hurt him. And he feels so out of control and helpless that completely giving himself over to Ian is the only way he knows how to cope. So he does. Again and again and again. And he just hopes Ian understands. He hopes Ian knows that he's still strong, he's still a Milkovich. He just _needs_ something from him because he can't get it anywhere else, doesn't feel safe with anyone but him. He hopes he understands, because if Ian doesn't understand, then Mickey's all alone, he has no one. And Mickey needs him. He needs him so fucking much and he knows Ian's the only person who can keep him safe. Because that's what Ian does. He keeps the people he loves safe. And Mickey thinks maybe that's what this is between them. Something a little more than a fuck, a little more than friendship. He doesn't know exactly what to call it, but in this neighbourhood, it's the most anyone like him can ask for. And he's thankful. He's so fucking thankful.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I do not take credit for the dialogue from the show; I have simply used it to aid my own story and exploration of Mickey.  
> The credit for those parts goes deservedly to the writers.
> 
> Feel free to contact me: http://enochianess.tumblr.com


End file.
